


Sincerely to a Lady Wolf

by Jamrock



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternative Perspective, Drama, F/M, Fiction, Multi, POV Female Character, The North Remembers (ASoIaF), Winterfell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-26 16:10:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18182804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jamrock/pseuds/Jamrock
Summary: This takes place after the Battle of the Bastards, after the Starks have taken back the North from the Boltons. Sansa Stark is still dealing with the trauma she endured after her marriage to Ramsey Bolton. She is learning to how to live again and learning how trust her instincts. She also falls in love.





	Sincerely to a Lady Wolf

The procession for Rickon Stark began at midday although a storm was brewing toward the west and the sun was hiding behind the melancholy clouds. The boy’s auburn hair was combed back as neatly as Maester Coleman could do it. Even in death, Rickon still had that same wildness. His pale hands rested atop the direwolf sigil embroidered on the forest green doublet that once belonged to Bran. It was a size too big for Rickon. No matter, Sansa thought he looked handsome. _He’s at peace._ _No one can harm him now._ The wolf pelt around his shoulders was the last gift she would ever give to her little brother. For days she worked tirelessly at the pelt. Her fingers ached, but the needlework had to be just right. One day Little Finger took the opportunity to steal her away from her sewing. He was breaking his fast in the Great Hall. The last time she remembered eating with her family in this hall was the day King Robert visited to ask father to be his Hand. It seemed like ages ago that she gossiped with Jeyne Poole over lemon cakes, but now she had very little desire to eat anything here. Ghosts lingered here now. The ghosts of her father, mother, Robb, Arya, Bran and now little Rickon. Even Uncle Benjen and Jory Cassel lingered here.

“Sit. Surely you are hungry.” He motioned to the chair next to him.

“I’ve already eaten.”

His grey, green eyes smiled at her. “You must be needing of a break. Do you mind keeping an old friend company?”

 _Friend?_ She had no patience for Little Finger’s innuendos today and like a hawk she knew he could sense it.

“Please Sansa. I only wanted to talk.” In a resolved manner, she sat. “I’m sure you heard of Jon Snow’s leave to the Wall.”

“Yes, he told me himself just yesterday.”

“Aye, of course he did. It happens that his remaining brothers were slaughtered.”

“Did Jon tell you this?” She asked brusquely.

“No. I read the blood-stained letter that was sent from Castle Black…after your brother read it.”

 _He lies._ “Well, he is the King in the North. It’s his duty to go. Those are his Brothers.

Little Finger perched on his one elbow to lean in closer to her.

“Brothers that he is no longer sworn to?” Before she could think of an answer. He drank whatever was in his mug. “You must be proud to have such an honorable brother. He is indeed Ned Stark’s son.”

Sansa suddenly felt tired. “Pardon me my Lord but I wish to be excused.” She stood to leave.

“Going back to your needlework?” He said in a hushed tone. “It wasn't you who killed your little brother so why are you blaming yourself?”

Sansa could not tell if he was being earnest, but for a second she thought she saw compassion on the face of Petyr Baelish.

“Good day, Lord Baelish” she replied.

That night her tears stained the wolf pelt she finished sewing for Rickon.

 

Ø 

           

Rickon’s body was carried on a bed of red velvet cushions by men sworn to House Arryn. Sansa had been grateful that Little Finger used his coin to make most of the funeral arrangements. He even paid for a stonemason to fashion a headstone down beneath the crypts of Winterfell, but she knew that his generosity was temporary. He will want something in return. _Only a fool would trust Little Finger._

As the funeral presided Yohn Royce said a few words in honor of House Stark. Others chimed in with their own eulogies. Lyanna Mormont spoke as fiercely as always. Robett Glover’s wife Sybelle sniffled as she spoke although Sansa thought she cried mostly for her husband who went with Jon to the Wall a few days past. They recently had a new born babe as well. Sansa felt sorry for the poor woman who looked as if she were in the grip of hay fever because of how red and blotchy her face appeared. Robett’s brother Galbart seemed deep in thought standing next to her.

Lords and ladies from ancient houses came far and wide to pay their respects. Sansa never fathomed she would see the day Winterfell was lively again with visitors. Lord Leyton Hightower traveled all the way from Oldtown to attend the funeral. In tow was his wife Lady Rhea along with their eldest son Ser Baelor. Lady Jonelle and Lyessa Flint from House Cerwyn. Some from House Florent whom were still considered traitors to the Throne for supporting Stannis.

Sansa curtsied to all of the visitors as they greeted her and paid their respects.

Lady Melara of House Crane kissed her on both cheeks.

“Oh how you’ve grown into a beauty. I came to Winterfell once when you were but a babe. My sympathies to you.”

“You are most kind.” Sansa replied.

“If your brother were here I would thank him for ridding this world of the Boltons who killed Stannis on this field not long ago.”

 _It was Brienne._ Sansa thought, but she smiled and continued to greet others.

Leyton Hightower kissed her hand. His son Baelor remarked on how he admired Ned. Lady Sybelle carried the suckling babe in her arms.

“Your daughter?” Sansa asked. “She is beautiful.”

“Thank you m’lady. The North Remembers.”

Those were words she could never forget. To her surprise, Sweetrobin stood before her.

“Cousin!” He hugged her tightly, Sansa could fill the air escape her lungs.

She kissed him on the cheek when he let her go. “How you’ve grown.” _And still without proper breeding I see._ “Where is Lord Baelish?”

“He was just behind me. Will you show me around Winterfell cousin?”

“In due time Robin.” She smiled and continued greeting others.

            A gust of wind from the west blew, whipping at the Stark banner on the southernmost tower. The day was somber, but something in the air made Sansa feel as if things could return to what they once were. It was only fair for her to be nostalgic now that winter had come and the ground was dusted with a light snow. She missed home. She missed the grey towers of Winterfell. The sounds of laughter from Arya and Bran. Rickon following Robb and Jon around Winterfell attempting to do whatever they did or getting himself into other troubles. Ser Rodrick telling father about Rickon disrupting the sword lessons between Robb and Jon looking for the grumpkins in Old Nan’s tales. There was another time Rickon poured cow’s milk down the back of Sansa’s dress while her and Jeyne were marveling at the handsome face of a Knight that visited Winterfell. The warm milk ran down her legs and soiled her leggings.

“Why did you do that you little weasel?” She yelled.

   “Nan says cow’s milk can make anyone ‘moo’.” He said.

Arya howled with laughter which made Sansa blush beet red from embarrassment as the Knight smiled down on them from his lofty horse.

She stormed off to get a new change of clothes, but it did not matter anyway. The Knight had left Winterfell already and Jeyne had to finish her studies. No matter how wild her brother was Sansa would always soften at the sight of him coming into her room and tugging on her bed coverlets when a lightning storm crackled the sky. She would roll over to let him sleep beside her.

“I didn’t mean it Sansa. I just wanted to be funny that’s al’. I will wash your dress for you.” He softly whispered. He hid beneath the covers.

She resolved to making him feel better. “It was an old dress. I gave it to mother to wash. Now go to sleep.”

As the men laid Rickon to rest, Sansa waved the candle in her hand around the expanse of the crypts to see all the Starks that were enshrined on the tombs in memoriam. It was always dark as night down in the crypts, whilst the torches flickered on the walls. She glimpsed the stone figures that captured the likeness of the generations of Starks that came and went. Her grandfather Rickard was amongst them, also her Uncle Brandon and Aunt Lyanna. _And father. But mother and Robb are not here. They should be here._ She remembered hearing how they sewed Robb’s direwolf head onto his body and ravaged mother’s body before throwing it into the river. Suddenly she was angry and tears welled in her eyes.

“Are you alright m’lady?” One of the men asked.

“A bit of dust in my eye.” She said turning.

“Do you wish to say any final words Lady Sansa?”

“No.” She faced them. “But there is one more thing that I ask. I request that a tomb be built for my mother Catlyn and my elder brother Robb.”

           

They threw a feast in the Great Hall that night. Rows of tables were lined up; the room was so packed that some people had to stand and the ones that were seated were practically elbow to elbow. Sansa watched the festivities and booming voices from her station at the head of the room. A sow that was twice the size of a pony was slaughtered. The skin still sizzled and the fat dripped from it. Apple preserves was served with it along with boiled potatoes, leek soup and mead. By the way every face ate with gladness you would think that this was the finest feast ever served at Winterfell. The soup was the only portion of the supper that Sansa did eat and even so, she barely touched it. She had no new clothes to dress for the occasion. She wore drab dresses as Alayne and ever since her escape from Winterfell, she could not enter the room where Ramsey Bolton kept her prisoner. Instead she found a chest with her some of her mother’s old clothing when she was only a maiden probably not yet married. Sansa tried on most of the dresses but there were either too short in the hem or too short in the arms, but one dress fit her comfortably. The dress was midnight blue with matching chiffon sleeves that hung from her shoulders. Sansa imagined her mother must have looked beautiful in this as she entered the Great Hall. She knew that men’s eyes watched her just like they were watching her now. _Let them watch. I have claws too._

   

Sansa wondered what Jon, Ser Davos, Ser Glover, Tormund, and the wildlings were doing at this moment. She wondered what Brienne and her squire Podrick were doing. _I have not seen or heard from them since the raven came with the news. Jaime Lannister has Riverrun._

The thought made her stomach lurch.

 “Lady Sansa!” One of the men rose drunkenly, “I wish to sing you a song.” 

She dreaded the attention, but she stood. “Maybe when you are sober my good Lord.”

The hall went up in laughter and the drunk sat down glumly.

“Let me do the honors my lady.” Another man rose from his seat. He was from the Eyrie. The white moon and falcon was on his shield. His face was comely, although he was short in stature.

“Are you a singer?”

“No, my lady. But I am told that I am skilled at playing the flute. I played at your Aunt Lysa’s wedding when she was married to Lord Baelish.”

Sansa nodded before sitting down. The voices in the hall hushed to hear the man play. It was unlike anything she ever heard. The musician’s fingers were deft and he held the flute delicately. Each sound was different from the rest and it left Sansa wondering how a tiny wooden instrument can make so many different noises by simply blowing into it. She would’ve blushed if she were the same foolish girl she used to be. When the tune reached its finale, every hand clapped. Sansa stood again.

“That was lovely.” She smiled genuinely for the first time in a long while. “You are welcomed to play at House Stark anytime.”

The crowd clapped again, but the noise died when a few soldiers from the Vale entered the Great Hall. Brienne was with them and her squire. With a hard yank, she pulled a man with a noose around his neck into the room. Brienne kicked his legs from under him and he sank to his knees, manacles bound his wrists.

“Lady Sansa, I bring you the son of Rickard Karstark,” another man entered the room, his frame was large and his equally large hands were tied with rope. His face was hidden behind a hood, but soon enough the hood was lifted. “And I bring you Sandor Clegane.”

 

Ø 

 

 _The Hound. How could it be?_ Many of the guests began to stir like horses and a few gasps were heard around the room. Sansa imagined they were gasping at his face. The scars looked even more hideous than she remembered. _And his eyes._ They were still black as night. A sudden chill was in the air that made the skin on her bare shoulders prickly. She could not tell if it was the weather or the Hound’s gaze that turned her body into stone.

When she finally spoke her voice sounded unlike her own. “We will decide what to do with these men on the morrow. Put them both in chains and take them to the cells.”

“As my lady commands.” Brienne said.

The Hound gave her one last look before the doors to the Great Hall closed.

                                                                                                      

That night Sansa’s sleep was tormented with dreams. Pleasant at first, until she was in the Throne room once again with Joffrey commanding Ser Meryn to beat her. She whelped and pleaded for him to stop. Joffrey smirked at her. His green eyes filled with amusement watching her plead.

Suddenly Joffrey began clutching his throat, scratching at the hollow of his neck and his eyes grew into orbs. The Iron Throne was growing larger as if it would eat him. The horror on his face made Sansa laugh. She was laughing. Everyone in the crowds were laughing, even Meryn Trant. The sound was thrilling. The last of her streaming tears ran dry seeing his tongue swell up like a purple pastry. The golden lion and stag crown tumbled to the floor as Joffrey fell seizing. His face was ugly, his lips a contorted shape gasping for breath and the veins in his neck were about to burst. His hands were shaking until they begun to shake no more. He was still. Lifeless. Sansa stood, she covered her breasts with the cloak. Tyrion’s cloak, _But where is Tyrion?_ The imp was gone. She stepped closer to Joffrey’s dead body. Bloody tears streaked from his eyes and blood leaked from his nose. She held in more laughter.

“All Hail Sansa Stark! Queen of the Seven Kingdoms!” A shout rang out and echoed in the Throne Room. “All Hail Sansa Stark! Queen! Queen! Queen!” Sansa could not believe it. _They love me. How can they love me?_

 _Queen..Queen…Queen.._ the voices echoed.

Sansa turned around to see the Throne room decorated with ribbons and colorful tapestries of royal green and yellow. She felt a hand slip beneath hers and there was Tyrion. He did not have a scar any longer and there was a nose in place of that severed one. He smiled at her and she noticed how handsome he looked in his golden colored doublet. He guided her up the steps to the Iron Throne. Her dress was no longer in tatters. She wore a yellow dress with a tightly fitted bodice of yellow silk that trailed down the back in a tied ribbon. Over that she wore cloak of royal green with the Stark sigil embroidered around the edges and on her head was a bronze crown studded with an emerald that fitted the eye of the direwolf.

Tyrion spoke, “All hail her Grace, Sansa of House Stark, First of her Name, Queen of the Andals, Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. Long may she reign,” Tyrion added.

“Long may she reign!” They all said.

She stood before her subjects. _Yes, I am the Queen._

Sansa sat on the Throne. It felt so prickly that she wanted to stand again.

Maester Pycelle shifted toward her in his slow manner.

_You accused my father of treason. Your head will soon mount the wall._

“Is there anything you request your Grace?”

She sat up straight, “Bring me Cersei Lannister.”

                                                                                                      

The woman looked frail when the Kingsguards brought her before the throne. The beauty that was once unmatched had faded, even her curls were limp. Tears were in her eyes and she did nothing to hide her anger.

“I will kill you for murdering my son.”

“Like you murdered my father?” Sansa remarked.

“Your father was a traitor and conspired against the rightful King.” The people grew still and silent waiting for a response from their Queen.

“Joffrey was a bastard. All your children are bastards. When my father learned this you sought to keep him silent. He lost a head and you gained a kingdom. You are the traitor. You are the person who stole any happiness from me. You and your monstrous son.”

Cersei’s face appeared as if it was chiseled from stone. Her mouth in a thin line. “Pretty little fool, you think you are the first woman to suffer? That crown fits your head like you were born to rule, but it shall be your downfall and when you die you will remember me. You will remember my words.”

Sansa spoke to the Kingsguard, “Take her to the dungeons.”

“Jaime will come for me!” Cersei lashed out.

“Until then, you shall starve down in the dungeons as my father did.”

     Cersei protested as the guards escorted her out. “I am the Queen!”

 _You were the Queen. Now I am._ Sansa sat their content until she began to hear laughter. One person began to holler with laughter and then another until everyone joined in unison. They were all laughing.

 _What is so amusing?_ Sansa reached up to touch the crown on her head. When she pulled it off it was a fool’s hat with a bell that jingled. Moonboy’s hat or her fool Ser Dontos. _Stop laughing._ When she looked down again she was naked. Her thighs were slicked with blood and she screamed at the sight of it. The Throne room went black. Sansa could not see so she stretched out her arm to feel for anything. The throne had dissolved from beneath her and she stumbled going down the steps. She began to fall, but she never reached the floor. She was falling and she had no voice. Her mouth moved but no words were heard. It was a black hole that went on forever. _Help me! Help me!_ She thought.

Suddenly she stopped falling. The black hole closed and she lay on a bed. It was still dark, but she could feel heavy breathing on top of her and heavy grunting. _It hurts_. She thought. The man thrust himself inside her, with each stroke he grew bolder. Sansa wanted to tell him to stop, but she was scared.

The man roughly kissed her lips, his breath stinking of wine and blood. He cupped at one breast and began to pinch her nipple. _You’re hurting me._ _Stop. Stop. Stop._

The man pinned her hands beneath her. He was strong and when she tried to move his body trapped hers. She was crying. She could nothing but cry. The man licked her tears and whispered in her ear “ _How does that feel love? I’m inside you now. You can’t be rid of me.”_ The darkness dissipated and she could finally see into the eyes of her lover. The blue piercing eyes of the man that took her maidenhead. When she opened her mouth to scream he pressed his hand over it to muffle the sound. He whispered in her ear again. _The pain will be over soon sweetling._ This time it was Little Finger’s voice. She looked into the eyes of her lover once again and it had Little Finger’s face. He kept thrusting inside her until finally he spilled his seed into her. _“You’re mine now, forever.”_ When her shapeshifting lover freed her hands, she saw the blade too late. He slid it across her throat. Sansa Stark woke clutching at her neck. _Only a nightmare._ She was drenched in sweat. Her auburn hair tousled and unkempt. There was a sharp thud on her door.

“Lady Sansa, are you unwell?” It was Brienne’s voice.

It took some time for Sansa to collect her thoughts, “No, I am well.”

A council meeting has been set up to deliberate on the two prisoners.”

“I shall be there soon.”

Sansa tugged at her coverlet to see blood. It was her moon blood. The first time it came, the sight frightened her. Now it was a welcome sight that she was happy to see.

 

Ø 

 

     “Who cares about a Karstark? The Hound slaughtered my son on the Red Fork. Justice won’t be served until he dies for his crimes!” A man shouted out. Sansa could feel herself growing impatient with all the random shouting.

“I promise to hear all of you, but one at a time.” She said.

“Permission to speak my lady.” Brienne was freshly armored and bathed. She looked dignified with her hand resting on the pommel of her golden sword although her sullen face gave away the current mood she was in.

She cleared her throat before speaking, “The Blackfish is dead. The Lannisters now occupy Riverrun. We cannot allow Harrion Karstark to go free because we prefer to kill a disgraced brother of the Kingsguard instead. When Podrick and I stumbled across the Brotherhood without Banners they held him captive. They told me Lord Karstark was headed for Riverrun before they caught him. He had every intention to join with the Lannisters.”

“How so?” Someone shouted. “The Karstarks hate the Lannisters. Remember it was Jaime Lannister who killed Rickard’s two other sons.”

“He has nothing to lose now.” Sansa replied. “His family betrayed my family, turned their back on the North. Joining with the Lannister army was his only option.”  

Galbart Glover stood and spoke “Aye, but how can you believe anything she says? This is the bitch that stabbed Renly in the back and I can spot Lannister gold when I see it. Who gave you that sword wench?”

Brienne’s jaw clenched whilst Sansa answered.

“Her name is Brienne. I’ll have you learn it before this day is over.”

The man laughed, “A council run by women. I think my horse could run a better one.”

A soldier stood, “Where is your bastard brother Jon Snow? Perhaps we should wait on him to speak at this council.”

“The King in the North.” Sansa corrected him. “My brother had more urgent matters to take care of. He left me in charge of Winterfell.” She directed her gaze toward Galbart Glover. “My father had deep respect for your father, your family is sworn to House Stark and your brother is now keeping company with my brother, but you sit here priding yourself on insolence. If you’d rather listen to your horse, then I’ll have Brienne escort you out or are you that afraid of a woman’s touch?” Lord Galbart sat in the corner, his smirk having turned into a frown. “Lady Mormont, I see you are quiet. Is there anything you’d like to add to this council?”

Lyanna stood, “Only that I’m embarrassed at the dimwittedness from these good men.” She sat again.

Sansa continued, “I speak for the King in the North while he is absent. Brienne is right. We shall deal with the fate of Sandor Clegane at another time. Harrion Karstark cannot be allowed to live.” 

 

      _I must be strong._ Sansa rode her white steed over the snowy landscape. The Vale army encamped outside Winterfell since the tide of the battle was turned. Sansa passed by soldiers sharpening their blades, mending new ones and readying their armor for the next battle to come. Some of the men watched her with curious eyes and some with lust on their faces. Sansa held the reigns and led her steed through a group of men ready to fight over a bowl of stew. _Are they always this uncivilized?_

She remembered how her and Arya were not allowed to venture near the place where Starks executed oath breakers and Night’s Watch deserters for centuries. This place was only for the eyes of men. The eyes of soldiers ready to do their duty. Ned Stark had been Warden of the North since Robert’s Rebellion. He was the keeper of the peace, the one who extracted justice. Here her father said the words: _I, Eddard of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North sentence you to die_. Here he delivered the final swing with his greatsword ‘Ice’ time and time again. She was always afraid of that sword. Always looking to see if the blade was tipped with blood when he returned. She remembered the day father killed the Night’s Watch deserter. Robb, Jon and even Bran was allowed to go that day. She remembered how grim father’s face was. He did not enjoy killing, but it was his duty all the same. _It is my duty today. My skin has changed from porcelain, to ivory, to steel._

    Sansa could see the Direwolf banners blowing from the gust of wind as she made her steed ride faster. The snow was light during midday, but it began to fall heavy, sticking to the horses’ hooves. Her boots crunched through the snow as she dismounted and walked toward the block. Sansa shaded her face from the snow hitting her cheeks. In the distance, there were fires that had already begun to smolder out. Jon had instructed that the men that died on the battlefield be burnt together. It was difficult to tell which of the fallen soldiers fought for the Starks or the Boltons. Oftentimes the nature of war is death. In victory there is still the defeat of your fallen comrades. Death comes for all and even those that live forget what they were fighting for after seeing a field laden with dead men.

    Harrion Karstark was standing before the block. His arms were bound behind him this time and he appeared to be shivering. His chainmail rusting from the weather. Brienne stood side by side with Sansa. She was waiting for the command.

 _I must be strong._ “Any last words?” Sansa asked.

Karstark did not answer. The silence made the cold worse, until

the soldiers forced him to kneel. Two on each side holding his arms and placing his head between the wooden block.

“I, Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell, sister to Jon Snow, King in the North sentence you to die.”

Karstark began to laugh. His laughter caught up in the snowy wind. _He laughs at me just like everyone laughing at me in the dream._ Brienne took his head off with one clean swipe. The head rolled and blood leaked from the wooden block onto the white snow. When Sansa headed back to her steed, she met Little Finger’s gaze.

 

Ø 

  

    The bath water was now lukewarm, but it felt so good to be alone. Sansa did not have to be strong when she was alone. She curled up in the tub, pulling her legs close to her chin and wrapping her arms around them. She had found another one of mother’s old dresses. This one was bleached so badly by the sun that the green color turned into a faded brown. Sansa stared at the old, faded thing. Here she was wearing Catlyn’s clothes and trying to be like her. Everyone had always remarked that she looked so much like her mother, but seeing her own reflection in the bath water, all she saw was an auburn haired girl of seven and ten with tired, blue eyes and a sad mouth. _I’m no Catlyn_. She brushed her hand over the water to make that girl disappear but after the ripples stopped, there she was again.

Sansa reached for the sponge floating around in the water like a little ship. She washed at her back and ran the sponge over the bumpy scars. Her fingers touched them, remembering the times he cut her. One cut for every time she screamed as he took her. Sansa began to shiver. _Silly girl, he is dead. The hounds have gnawed the bones from his corpse by now._

    “M’lady do you need me?” She heard the girl’s soft voice through the door.

“Come in Agnes.” Little Finger had said he found the girl starving to death when he arrived at the burned remains of Mole Town. She had survived the wildling attack by hiding in one of the empty flour bins with a bread knife. Sansa did not want a handmaiden, but took pity on the poor girl after hearing that she tried to kill herself during those long days and nights all alone. The only thing that stopped her was hunger. With no strength to lift her arms even killing herself proved a difficult task.

She was a shy girl that was almost as tall as Sansa, but Little Finger only believed her to be two and ten. Many brothel girls started that young, some even younger and that is the only life they would come to know. Agnes was afraid of men, even Sweetrobin scared her off. The girl had fleeting eyes and spoke very little but knew how to do a number of things. Sansa loved the way she made meat pies, and how she could make cinnamon cakes with flour and eggs and cinnamon sticks. She had promised to make Sansa lemon cakes when she heard they were her favorite.

“M’lord Baelish want to see you.” The girl said as Sansa sat in a chair while she brushed her hair.

Little Finger’s politeness was often a means for something else. Sansa let out a sigh. “I can take it from here Agnes.” She patted the girl’s hand warmly.

Agnes smiled. Even her smile was fleeting. The girl with the shaggy brown hair tied in a scarf curtsied and left the room as quietly as she entered. Sansa stood and smoothed out her mother’s dress.

 

      _Tommen and the Princess Myrcella are dead?_ _Margaery and Loras Tyrell are dead? While Cersei still lives and crowns herself Queen of the Seven Kingdoms? It cannot be true._ Sansa sat before the fire in the hearth, the wood crackling as the flames licked at it.

“What are you thinking about my love?” They were alone. That was the only time Little Finger was so blunt forth to call her that.

“What am I thinking about?” She replied, “I’m thinking about how the gods could be so cruel.”

“Rest assure the only reward Cersei will get for her revenge is more enemies. The lions of Casterly Rock will be on their knees soon once Oleanna Tyrell marches an army toward their doorstep. She is clever that one and far better at playing the game than Cersei.”

Sansa looked at him standing next to the hearth. His mockingbird pinned to the front of his long cloak. “She offered you the North if you give her my head. And are you still considering this?”

“Of course not. You are the most important thing to me.” Little Finger said.

Sansa watched the flames growing. “Soon she will hear word of the Bolton defeat. It is only a matter of time before she comes after me. How long will the Vale army stay here?”

“I can only keep half of them here. Provisions are low and winter comes with a biting chill.” He warmed his hands in front of the hearth. “Don’t look so worried my love. Cersei will sooner cause her own demise than kill you.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Little Finger mused, “Because I poisoned her beloved son. With a little persuasion and assistance from a certain lady of Highgarden.”

Sansa’s throat went dry. She did not know what to say.

“I suppose…I suppose I should thank you. I only wish that I had the courage to kill him and have her know it was me who took her beloved son. All I can think about is what she took from me. Now I have nothing left, except…Winterfell and…Jon.”

“You can have Winterfell and more. If only you take my hand…” He said.

“And do what? Marry you?” She laughed. “I am not a maiden anymore; you saw to that when you sold me to another monster. I will no longer be any man’s bride for them to do as they please with me.”

Little Finger turned to her, “You shall be my Queen. I want to love you and to serve you.” He knelt and kissed her hand. His lips were warm and his touch tingled.

“You speak of love. I am not sure if I have any love left in me. I only feel hate.”

“So let us act on that hate. We can rule the world together.”

 _Is this Little Finger or Petyr Baelish?_ She sometimes could not tell where Little Finger began and Petyr Baelish ended.

“I don’t want that anymore. Once I did, but…that was a long time ago. I was a stupid little girl, with stupid dreams.”

“But you do want to be Queen of the North? They’ve robbed you of what was rightfully yours.”

 _No._ She thought, but another voice inside her replied _Yes._ Sansa withdrew her hand from his grasp.

“Doesn’t matter what I want anymore. My brother is King of the North and I must support him.”

“Must? You say it like you have to convince yourself of this truth.”

“You won’t let it go, will you?” She searched for Petyr Baelish, but all she saw at the moment was Little Finger.

He stood and leaned in close to her. His breath smelling of peppermint. “When have I ever let anything go my love?” She wanted to avoid his kiss, but this time she let him kiss her.

 

    The cold was harsh. Another snow storm whipped at the walls of Winterfell making white dunes in the crevices of each corner. When darkness fell, Sansa lit a candle and went down to the cells to see him. Brienne told her about what the Hound did for her sister. She knew it was truth. Any word that Brienne spoke was truth. The woman was so honorable that death would be more pleasant to her than telling a lie. Nonetheless Sansa felt a hollowness in the pit of her stomach. It had been so long since she saw him.

    Maester Luwin use to prowl this halls. The cells were in the same tower where he stayed. He was the kindest man she knew. It had been so long since she thought of Maester Luwin that his face was hard to remember. He would give her, Arya and Bran sweets whenever they were correct about the History of the Seven Kingdoms. He tested them on Baelor the Blessed, Aegon the Conqueror and his sister wives. Maegor the Cruel, King Jaeharys and all the other Targaryen rulers. They had to memorize all the Houses and marriages. Sansa hated it. She cared nothing for the History of the Seven Kingdoms, only the fairy tales that Nan would tell of the handsome princes that doted on their ladies. She was great at telling all of them, except the ones that Bran liked which were scary and stupid. She put those memories behind her standing in front of the Hound’s cell. It was small compared to his size. There was a wooden bucket that served as chamber pot in the corner. A few husks of corn were scattered on the floor and the hound was eating one of the corns. It was so dark that she struggled to see him through the candle light.

“Did you enjoy your meal?” She asked.

“You come down here to ask about that.” His voice was gravelly.

She paused. “No, I did not.”

“Then why are ya’ here? To sing me a song?”

“I’m here because most of the men sworn to House Stark want you dead.” Sansa did not know why she was being difficult. _He saved my life. Many times._

“Aye, little bird. Then get on wit’ it. I’ve waited to die for a long time.”

She could feel his black eyes on her and that hideous scar was half hidden and half illuminated by the candle light.

Sansa hesitated. “I… wanted to ask about my sister Arya. Brienne told me you were with her near the Riverlands. You protected her.”

“And lost her…” He finished.

“Is she alive?” Sansa’s heart pounded so loud in anticipation that she thought he might hear it.

He took long to answer. “I don’t know. She left me there to die. I begged her. I begged her to kill me. End it…but she didn’t.” He threw the corn against the wall. “She called herself a wolf. I’ve known many men in my life and not half o’ em was like her.”

“Do you know where she could’ve went?”

“With a bounty on you Stark girls, she’s most like dead.”

_No. Arya is not like me. She can fight and she is not scared of anyone._

The Hound stood, his frame casting a large shadow on the cell wall. The candle flickered in Sansa’s hand as she backed away.

“Still afraid o’ me little bird?” He limped over to the bars.

“What happened to your leg?”

“Ask your woman. We fought over your sister.” The scars were visible in the candle light. Rough and gnarly, but his eyes showed a hint of amusement. “I thought you were here to kill me?”

“I don’t want…to kill you. I…I want to thank you. For protecting my sister.”

“You can thank me with some ale.” The Hound said before a horn blew in the distance.

 

Ø 

 

      Sansa watched with anticipation as men pointed their long bows.

“Who goes there?” One of the Vale soldiers called out into the night from the turret that sat aloft the southern tower. About thirty men accompanied him. Some on the east and west side of the castle and a dozen men on the battlement with Sansa aiming their long bows at the outlines of black figures in the distance. It was so cold that her teeth chattered. Little Finger was right. Half of the Vale army had gone back to the Eyrie. Fires were dosed with water and the camp was no longer there.

“Don’t loose the bows yet.” She said. The black figures leaned against the wind. Some of them swayed back and forth like trees. Others were bundled together in roughspun wool and animal skins. She noticed a few of them had fallen and did not get back up. _They are dying._

She called out into the night. “I am Sansa Stark of Winterfell. Declare yourselves friends and I will not fire on you.”

She wondered if any of the men could hear her, but one of them cloaked in a brown hooded sheepskin lit a torch and let down his hood. Sansa held her breath at the reveal. _Theon Greyjoy?_

“Open the gates.” She said quickly.

“M’lady we are only supposed to take orders from Lord Baelish.” One of the bowman replied.

“This is my home and you are under my command here. Open the gates.”

Sansa left the battlement with a few of the soldiers escorting her to the gates. They held their bow and arrows high ready to shoot. The man on the southern turret yelled “Open the gates!”

The bar that held the doors of Winterfell was removed as Sansa stood behind the wall of soldiers protecting her. She slowly emerged when she saw the man walk through the gates. His face was gaunt and Sansa saw what looked like the rot on his left hand.

“Theon?”

It was as if he did not see her or hear her, until he responded, “Sansa.”

She crept forward to rest a gloved hand on his face.

“Is it really you?” Smiling, she embraced him. He returned the embrace but his body felt so frail that his strength was meager compared to hers.

“Why are you here Theon?”

“I must see Jon Snow. I must talk to him.”

“Jon is not here. He left for Castle Black two fortnights ago.”

His swallowed to catch his breath, “Then we are all in grave danger. We were attacked near Deepwood Motte by dead man that rise. They can only…only be burnt with fire.”

“How long ago?”

“Only four days past.”

“Who are these men with you?” She almost had to hold him up.

“Soldiers allied with Daenerys Targaryen.”

Sansa looked at him closer, “You are injured.”

“These men need food and shelter.” He pointed behind him, but his legs gave way and she stumbled holding him up. “Help him!” She said to the men around her.

 

     She told the men to bring Theon to her room. The fever burned right through him when Agnes helped her remove his clothes. Every time Sansa touched her palm against his forehead he would cry out in pain. For most of the night into the early morning he remained in a constant state of wake and sleep. Sometimes mumbling to himself, asking the gods to forgive him. Sansa held his hand, trying to give him what little comfort she could, but she feared the worst would happen to him if his condition did not change. He suffered a broken rib and the gash on his abdomen began to fester. Maester Coleman cleaned the wound with boiled wine before wrapping a poultice around his abdomen. Sansa had to place a rag in his mouth so he would not bite his tongue. She wished that was the last of Theon’s agony, but her and the Maester had to set his shoulder back in place. That proved to be so painful that Theon needed milk of the poppy. He slept for a little after that. Sansa would not leave his side. In the early hours of the morning, she finally drifted off to sleep in the chair beside her bed. When Sansa dreamt, this time she was running through a maze. It was verdantly green and lavish and she could hear laughter behind her. The laughter sounded like Margaery. _This is Highgarden_. _It is as beautiful as she said it was._

She reached out to touch the hedgerows of flowers blooming. There were so many of different colors. She plucked some and threw it high in the air to let it rain on her. _I want to stay here forever._ Suddenly she felt hands cover her eyes.

“Margaery?” She pulled the mysterious hands down and turned around to see Loras. “Loras! Oh my beautiful Knight.” She laughed and he spun her around until she thought she would faint from the dizzy spell. He smiled at her and caressed her face. She thought she would melt when he finally kissed her. When she caught her breath, she asked,

“When shall we be married?”

His smiled faded into a solemn line.

“Never.” He pushed her through the moon door.

Sansa screamed as the cold wind engulfed her. She never met the rocks below. Sansa woke from the dream to see Theon awake.

“You…were dreaming.” He said.

“A terrible dream. Sleeping is proving to be difficult. How do you feel?” Her hands touched his forehead. The fever had lifted a little but he was still sweating.

“Wa…ter.” He mumbled. Sansa held the pitcher and poured into a cup. Theon could hardly move his lips to drink but he sounded more alert after she gave him the cup of water. “Thank you.”

“You must get better.”

“And if I don’t?”

“You mustn’t say that. You will get better.”

“If…I…if I die, you have to burn my body or else I will come back as one of those things.”

“Don’t talk like that.”

“Promise me.” He said squeezing her hand.

Sansa nodded. “Jon talked about the dead coming as winter comes.”

“It is true. I have seen them. We sailed…up Sea Dragon Point to avoid the Ironborn, but it was useless. Euron…he sent two ships to block us in, push us farther out sea. But they came, hordes of them. We had to abandon ship. We did not have many long ships and the ones we had were no match for how fast they came at us. They overtook the Ironborn ships in no time. We reached land and they kept coming. There was a landslide, part of the land broke off and they drowned in the sea. Many of us died.”

“You need to rest and gather your strength.” She pulled the coverlets up to his chest and soon as that the man drifted off to sleep again.

    Sansa had found Maester Coleman in the library, looking over some old scrolls about bloodletting with leaches. He also had a book of potions open skimming over the text.

“How bad is it?” Sansa asked.

“Most of the men will not recover from their wounds. They are too fatal. We don’t have nearly enough supplies to treat those who have lost limbs or treat for infection.

“Surely we can do something.” She said.

“Bloodletting is useless.” He tossed a scroll. “We would need horse wagons of leeches to treat these men. Not even the Citadel has that. And the cold, the cold is brutal. These men came from across the Narrow Sea, they are not accustomed to this weather.”

_Theon said they are soldiers that fight for a Targaryen._

“We have to try and help them. For as long as we can. What do you need me to do?”

“Find every scullery maid you can and boil lots of water and wine. I could use a strong man to pitch some tents too.”

Sansa thought about him; still imprisoned in his cell, “I think I know someone who can help.”

 

Ø 

    

    The Hound drove the stakes into the ground with a hammer. By the time Sansa went to check on Theon again, there were some fifty to sixty tents pitched inside the walls of Winterfell. They had turned the stable into a washer room. There, the maids washed many of the bloody rags used to treat the wounded. They made poultices and stirred boiling pots of wine while the pigs and the fat sow slept in gruel and shuffled and shitted.  

Sansa was surprised to see The Hound so lost in thought. He hammered away and chopped wood, he carried injured men to sick beds. Only stopping to take a drink of the water. Sansa poured water and filled bowls of soup with a ladle. She passed by every tent daily to give water and soup to the sickly. She had never seen so many brown faces before. They had the most beautiful skin, as if made of velvet or smoothed leather. Their eyes were brown, hazel, and ambers. Their language was strange, something she had never dreamed of hearing. It was fascinating. Sansa stumbled across one soldier who had two toes cut off because of the frostbite. He spoke to her. Sansa almost could not believe it when she heard him say,

“What is you name?”

“Sansa.” She replied.

“San..sa.” He repeated. “Thank you.”

“You welcome.” She gave him more water. “How did you learn my language.”

“A girl teach me. Missandei.”

“Mis..san…dei.” She said, “What a beautiful name.”

The man seemed lonely and sad.

“If you need me, I will be right outside the tent.”

It had been a week since Theon returned to Winterfell. It had been a week since Sansa barely slept. Sometimes she dozed in her bathing tub or shut her eyes while washing off the dirt and grit before taking her meal in the Great Hall. There were moments she thought about Jon. She had not seen any raven come or heard any word from him. She got so desperate that she sent a few ravens herself. For all she knew, he could be dead. _What joy that would give Little Finger._

Petyr Baelish skulked in the shadows and would oftentimes appear at the most unusual moments. When she was feeding Theon soup or brushing her hair or sending a raven to Castle Black to tell Jon about various things. Her executing Harrion Karstark, Theon’s return and the injured men they were nursing back to health. It was only a matter of time before he would whisper “my love” in her ear again. Sansa never thought she could nurse anything back to health. The sight of blood use to frighten and sicken her as a child, but now, everything was different. _My skin has changed from porcelain to ivory, to steel._

    It had not snowed in a few days but today the snow began to drift down in flurries. Sansa was bundled up filling bowls with broth, chopped onions and carrots. The Hound’s hulking frame appeared out of nowhere. She thought he would yell at her, but instead he grabbed her hand and pulled her to one of the nearby tents. Screams filled the tent. There were several soldiers. A few of them sounded like they were cursing in their foreign language and another was screaming words that Sansa surmised were prayers. The Hound stood before this man. Sansa realize why he was praying. His leg was a blackened, swollen sight. The stench made Sansa want to hurl. He kicked every time someone tried to hold him down. There were two other men, Vale soldiers, holding down the man’s arms and telling him to bite down on a leather strip.

“Hold his leg down.” The Hound’s ordered in a gruff voice.

“I don’t think…”

“Little bird, I’ve seen you look at your father’s severed head. If you can look at that, you can look at this.”

Sansa held the man’s leg, she shifted her weight onto it and watched in horror as the Hound brought down an axe to the leg. She tasted bile at the back of her throat and closed her eyes as blood splashed her face. She did not know what was worse, the man’s nuzzled screams or the sound of the axe hacking through muscle and then bone and then more muscle until the removed the leg. Sansa stared in horror at the severed black leg. The blood gushing out. Several maids came in to stop the bleeding, applying several rags. Sansa stood there with blood on her hands and the rest that stained her cloak and face. She watched the Hound grabbed the man by the shoulders and shake him. He slapped his face. “Wake up, yu’ bloody baby.”

“Is he dead?” One of the Vale soldiers asked.

The Hound took longer to answer, “Aye. Burn his body with the rest.”

Sansa opened the flap of the tent. She breathed in the air, but the food in her stomach already came up. She knelt there on the ground, wiping her mouth and staring at her breakfast before strong hands lifted her. She rested her head on the shoulder and closed her eyes to breath in the Hound’s earthy scent. He smelt of dirt, ash, and sweat. 

“Take me to the weirwood tree. There is a path that leads to it.” She said without opening her eyes.

      She could smell the weirwood when the Hound carried her to the place where her father would sit for hours to brood, pray and sharpen ‘Ice’.

The stone where he sat was covered in snow so Sansa waited until the Hound brushed away it away to sit.

“Pray if you think it will help you.” He spat, “But the gods are like horses, they ignore yu’ and step in their own shit anyway.”

“I don’t pray anymore.” She said. The Hound laughed. “I would thank you, but I can see you are enjoying yourself without my thanks.”

She bundled her arms in her cloak and tried not to look at his burnt face.

“I said you can thank me with ale.” He kicked at the snow.

“You’ve changed not at all. Still rude and presumptuous and…a drunk.”

“But you chose to save my arse when you could’ve seen me strung up o’ beheaded.”

She was irritated with his frankness, “You are not my enemy.”

“I was Joffrey’s sworn man. Even though I hated that cunt of King, I still killed for him.”

She stood, “On second thought, I should tell get Brienne to kill you if you want to die. Why do you want to die so badly?”

The Hound did not answer. He simply kicked at more snow, until he met her gaze directly. Sansa shuddered. She hoped he did not see it.

“I should be dead for all the things I done. I should o’ died when my cunt of a brother did this to me.” He pointed at his face. “I should o’ died when your woman won the fight and threw me over a cliff. I should o’ died plenty times.”

 _At least, I can be a friend to him_. She trudged through the snow and stood before him. This time she met his gaze and did not flinch. “Maybe it means that you have a larger purpose. A purpose that has not been fulfilled yet.”

“Someone I once knew told me that. Could be why I’m a hard fucker to kill.” He reached out and touched the tip of Sansa’s braided hair. She swallowed and tried to hide the blush on her cheeks. “You’re different.” He said.

 _You are too._ She thought.

 

Ø 

  

     In the next few days, they had burned so many of the foreign soldiers that died in their sleep or died in agony with maids, Maester Coleman, Brienne or Sansa holding their hands. Winterfell started to look like a graveyard from all the piled armor, helmets, scythes, and spears that were in the armory. Sansa memorized some of the brown faces that became familiar to her. One of them was named Grey Worm, in Valryian he was called “Torco Nudo.” Another soldier named “Aokaro” was a gifted singer. He promised to teach Sansa the art of singing and the art of fucking he called it. Sansa blushed and tried to teach him how to bow, but he was so bad at it, that she could only laugh at his attempts. Every night and morning she visited Theon until he was strong enough to stand. The first day he left her room, they walked the balconies of Winterfell. He told her about Daenerys Targaryen, the silver haired Queen that will overthrow Cersei and establish a new world order in Westeros.

“But how do you know that she has succeeded in overthrowing Cersei?” She asked.

“I don’t know yet, but I believe in her. My sister believes in her too and…Tyrion Lannister.” He responded.

 _Tyrion?_ It had been so long since she heard his name.

“She sent me to make a treaty with the King in the North. Is Jon truly the King in the North?”

Sansa nodded. Theon paused to gather his strength. They looked out over the vast snowy landscape. “Sansa, I feel so…” His voice drifted. “This place. It reminds me of my childhood memories and my…worst memories.”

“He cannot torment us anymore.” She said to him. “You are Theon Greyjoy.”

 

    That night Sansa made Agnes draw a bath for Theon. She allowed him privacy to take care of himself. The first thing she did was send another raven to Castle Black. This time she wrote to Jon about the Targaryen Queen and her quest to take the Iron throne. _But is she an enemy? Has Theon been fooled? The Targaryens are known to be mad._ Sansa thought of tearing the letter up, but resolved herself to sending it when Agnes called out to her,

“M’lady, come quickly! He has locked me out.”

Sansa raced to her bedroom, “Theon!” she shouted and pounded on the door. “Theon open the door! Please don’t do this! Go get someone to open this door!” She said to Agnes.

When the men arrived it took four swings with an axe to break through the door, they pulled Theon’s naked body from the bath tub. The water sloshing on all sides and wetting the floor.

 _Is he dead?_ She stood there frozen with fright.

The men beat on his chest without any response.

Tears streamed down Sansa’s face. She could not watch this.

They turned his body over and beat on his back before Theon coughed up the water.

 

    She did not want to go back to Ned and Catlyn’s room. She tried to avoid going there until Theon asked to see her. He was laying on his back wearing a rough spun tunic and lost in thought when she entered.

“I know you…don’t want to see me. I only meant…I only meant..”

“Save your breath. I should slap you silly.”

“Sansa…” He said.

She went to the bedside and struck him across the face. As she went to strike him again he held her hands.

“Please Sansa.”

“Let go of me!” She cried and she fought him until she was tired of fighting. The tears she fought back were falling now so she buried her face in his tunic and began to sob. Theon held her there, brushing her auburn hair with his fingers.

“Why does everyone I care about want to die?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry I hurt you.”

“Nothing you say can console me if you’ve made up your mind to die.”

Theon brushed her hair again, “If I were a whole man…I would love you.”

“But you are a whole man.” She cupped his hand over her cheek and finally pressed her lips on his. When she looked at him again, his eyes brimmed with tears. “Live Theon Greyjoy. Live.”

 

Ø 

   

     Sansa tossed the letter into the fire. She watched the edges shrivel up and blacken, the ink melt and curl up into ashes.

“You sent for me.” Little Finger entered the room.

“You’ve heard of this Daenerys Targaryen.”

“Word spreads rather quickly in Westeros. She is the last living heir of Aerys II and she seeks the Iron throne.”

“How long have you known this information and kept it from me?”

Little Finger watched the fire crackle, “When are you going to face the truth, that we are kindred souls?

Sansa drew in her breath before she spoke again. “I received word from my brother. He will return soon.”

“That is good news.”

“Not for you.” She remarked, “I want you to leave Winterfell on one condition, you must kill Cersei Lannister.”

“Only her.”

“Only her.” Sansa replied, “If you do this…only then will I consent to marry you.”

_But my heart belongs to him._

Little Finger shuffled his robes, “As you command, my love.” He bowed and brought her hand to his lips.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
